Downfall
by HedgieX
Summary: Ros, struggling to cope with the recent tragic loss of her colleague and lover Adam, turns to the dark side as she wonders about her life; past, present and future. But will she manage to sort herself out, or end up doing something she'll regret forever?


Ros Myers wrapped the coarse rope around her bony hand, looping it over her fingers methodically. With each tug on the cord, it tightened, until it dug so roughly into her palm that her whole arm throbbed. But still she pulled, dragging it farther and farther down, whilst her expression remained impassive to any inside emotion.

The man on the other end of the line moaned. The rope fastened around his neck, and then passed up and up into the unknown, so with each tug on it Ros raised him further and further into the air. She glanced upwards, into the never-ending depths of murky roof space, and met for a split second the gaze of her victim.

He was slender, yet strong; his muscled arms clawing at the imprisonment in despair. His skin appeared perfectly tanned, aside from the chalky white patches spreading across his cheeks as all breath was sucked out of him, and his mousey blonde hair ruffled, as though he'd run habitual fingertips through it. But it was his eyes that caught, and held her attention.

They were of the deepest blue, casting out glimmers of such warmth and genuine morality that she subconsciously found herself entranced. But at the same time, they overflowed with anguish, as if they were both petrified and denying.

Ros dragged her stare away, her eyes falling back to the rope as she gave yet another heave on the rope. But this time, she was weaker; his eyes remained imprinted on her brain, his gasps echoing in her ears.

For this man reminded her sobadly of Adam. Since his death, he'd ceaselessly influenced her work, altered her personality, stalked her dreams...and her nightmares. She'd run and run, desperately attempting to forget the reality of their situation, but nothing could disguise his presence in her life. And maybe she didn't want it to.

She found herself questioning, suddenly sure of nothing at all. She'd distracted Adam at the vital moment, just desperate to see him one last time before they were torn apart forever. Had that delay of milliseconds as he'd paused ultimately cost him his life? Spies were masters of deception; so accomplished at lying for a living that even out of work they hid behind a mask of unknown. Did they ever really know _themselves_ who they were?

And this man. She'd convinced herself he deserved this; the immense suffering she subjected him to now. He was the complete opposite of Adam despite his looks; a cruel and heartless murderer showing no remorse whatsoever for the trauma he'd caused amongst innocent people. But really, was it true? Or had this guy just been easily influenced, just fallen in with the wrong crowd and ended up deeply regretting the evil he'd done? Would they ever truly know?

"Please," his tone was weak and hoarse; desperate. She remained frozen, her eyes locked on the floor. But inside, she felt a wave of nausea wash up in her throat, and her heart thud faster against her ribs.

Her colleagues hadn't always been subtle with their opinions of her; she'd been nicknamed 'ice queen' amongst other unrepeatable titles, and one team had even kept a tally of the, albeit rare, times she smiled in a week, until Harry Pearce had ordered the demolition of the chart. That was one thing to be said for Harry; he could be moody, or sarcastic, but at least he was fair. As long as you were straight with him, you knew where you stood.

Did nobody realise, though, that she fell into the character they'd created for her because it was easier than showing her real emotions? Had none of them wondered, even for a moment, if beneath all the pretences she was just the same as them?

Adam was the only one who could ever begin to understand. And now he was gone forever because of her. Sure, she'd grown accustomed to solitude, and generally relished it. She'd learnt the hard way; trusting nobody was simpler.

Now, however, she felt so, so alone. Not since her father's demise had she experienced this utter degree of isolation; a constant aching emptiness. As if she truly had no one left to care, and nothing left to care about. No purpose to her living.

XxXxX

"Where is she?" Lucas North snapped frustratedly, slamming his fist down on the desk in front of him.

Beside him, Jo Portman shrugged. Of course, she didn't want any harm to come to Ros, but they'd never exactly been close, and she couldn't really see why such a fuss was being made. "I'm sure she'll arrive soon. She probably just overslept."

"Oh, come on; this is Ros! She never oversleeps!" he exclaimed, dismaying.

"Actually, thinking about it, I'm not sure she sleeps at all," Harry materialised, peering over Lucas's shoulder at the blank screen. His feeble attempt at a joke failed miserably, though, and he switched his efforts to addressing his team, "Right, you lot. I understand Ros isn't exactly the office favourite, and I sympathise with your impatience. But she's section chief, and a good Spook. So please, just focus on finding her – we all know something's happened, and none of you will rest until she's back here, being severely lectured by me. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Sir," came the mutual murmur from around the room. Harry nodded primly and retreated back to his office, grabbing a glass plus his bottle of whisky from the cabinet and pouring himself a healthy glass before sinking down at his desk.

He'd already lost so many officers. Each time he felt he'd lost something from inside him; a chunk of his soul. They were his team; he did care. Without Ruth, now, he struggled to make sense of anything at all. He found himself lost, a feeling he wasn't accustomed to. And he didn't like it.

Adam's death had hit them all hard, but Ros hardest of all. Still, he'd been too wrapped up in his own worries to see hers were far worse. Was this a cry for help? Was she going to do something she'd regret for the rest of her life because no one had listened?

"Harry, we've found her!" Lucas called, not knocking as he hurried into the room and came to a halt in front of the desk, "That guy – Luke Murray. He was under surveillance for ages; we suspected him of the murder of those kids in the playground massacre. But nothing was found, and he sort of slipped under the radar as the case faded into the background. Ros was always totally determined Murray was the killer. And now she's taken all his files, and the CCTV of the street his warehouse is on shows her entering the building. That was half an hour ago – there's been nothing since."

"Get a team down there," Harry ordered immediately, his hand already on the phone, "You go, Lucas; she'll need a familiar face. Quickly, before...Yes, this is Sir Harry Pearce."

XxXxX

The man, from a seemingly distant world, gave a last faint whimper, his body growing limp as he succumbed to oblivion. Hanging there now, he looked so helpless. And, deep in her heart, she knew this was wrong. Whatever he'd done, he didn't deserve this; no one did.

Every spy had their downfall; each one met their last in the end. Sometimes, they just didn't have a choice. They lived for the moment, for the thrill of the chase. But, as Harry so often lectured to them, the line between good and bad was treacherously fine. And the ultimate question in this job, the one scaring Ros now more than ever, was exactly that. At which point did a spy switch between the two? When did they become as evil as the people they existed to fight?

Adam's gorgeous tone suddenly whispered in her ear, his entrancing gaze boring into her skull. A single tear spilled over her eyelid and trickled down her cheek, a glimmering track left behind in its wake. She missed him so, so much. But that was life for you; the way of the world. And this wasn't the way to rid herself of the guilt, the grief, the confusion...Adam wouldn't have wanted it."

She slowly and shakily unwound the round, wincing as matted blood smeared across her hand. The man dropped gradually from above, finally collapsing to the ground and falling still.

She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands, void of any strength. It was over. Everything she'd ever lived for was gone.

"Ros!" Lucas burst through the door, rocking the rusty hinges, and dived to the floor beside her, utterly bewildered, "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Jo, get an ambulance!" Lucas demanded back towards the exit, leaning over the check Murray's pulse. He was unconscious, but just about breathing; he'd recover. Lucas hoped. Nevertheless, he failed to hide his grimace as Ros forced her head up a fraction. She'd just apologized to him, showing incessant remorse. And Ros_ never_ apologised. Something was seriously wrong here; he could tell that even aside from the blood, sweat and tears covering Ros's shirt as he surveyed her anxiously. "This is about Adam, isn't it? Jesus, Ros; I didn't know it was this bad! Why didn't you tell someone?"

"I'm sorry."

He sighed inwardly. This was Ros. She didn't express her emotions; she didn't let anyone into her life. Or was that because no one had tried to help her? Was this her colleagues' fault? "I know you're sorry. It's okay now; you're safe."

She fought his hug for a moment, embarrassed by the sudden affection he showed. She had wanted to talk to Lucas; she had tried. But opening up had never been her strong point, and she'd always talked herself out of a heart-to-heart at the last moment. Now, though...

Lucas smoothed a stray lock of her hair away from her fearful eyes, yearning to comfort her. She nestled down in his arms, and he rocked her back and forth, holding her close as she broke down, sobs engulfing them both.

"Lucas, there's a bomb in the next room! The whole building's rigged to explode!" Jo squealed, her voice quivering with fear, "We need to get out!"

Lucas glanced to Murray, who still lay motionless, and then back to Ros, who was curled up in his arms, her body heaving with each ragged sob she produced. He'd seen pain before, and plenty of it; he'd witnessed more than his fair share of horror and anguish. But never this. This was different. "He knew. And he set her up. The little..."

Jo ran towards him, her expression unconvinced, but Lucas shot her a fierce glance, and she crouched down by his side. Ros would've saved them in that position. She would've risked her life without doubts, whatever anyone said. Lucas was right; she deserved reciprocation of that. "What about Murray?"

"I'll take him. You hold Ros," Lucas suggested his voice switching to gentle as he held his colleague tighter, her vulnerability affecting him, "Ros, listen to me. I know you're upset. But there's a bomb, and you know as well as I do what that means. We need to get out."

"I can't. I can't," she wept, inconsolable, "You go. Just...just leave me."

"There's a time for everything, and this really isn't the moment for this. You can mourn later, Ros, I promise. We'll talk; properly. But you need to be brave now, okay?" he uncurled her grasp from his jacket cautiously, easing her up until Jo could take hold of her.

Even to Jo, Ros felt light and gaunt. She shook as they helped her to her feet, but she leant on Jo, and together they stumbled towards the exit. "We're nearly there now, Ros. It's okay."

Lucas watched them in disbelief. Both were strong, smart and dependable girls, yet with such different personalities. If only they'd allow themselves a chance, they could be great friends. Or at least as close as you could get to friendship with Ros.

Shaking himself free of his dreams, he hoisted Murray up over his shoulder, and followed his colleagues from the building, away from the danger.

XxXxX

Ros crouched down by the gravestone, laying a single white rose on the grass before it. Secrecy, didn't it stand for, and purity? And heaven. How very appropriate.

The grave was a double; both Adam and Fiona lay here. She understood it all now, she supposed. Fiona had always been Adam's greatest love. Maybe he'd liked Ros afterwards, or maybe he'd just needed someone to comfort him. But their relationship had never been real, not in that way.

Knowing that, somehow, eased the pain. Of course she still loved him; there'd always been the lingering shame and sorrow. But she felt free now – Adam was with his wife, and she herself could start to move on.

To her amazement, good had come from this, too. Tomorrow night, she was going to the pub with Lucas and Jo, much to Section D's delight. Obviously, she'd made it perfectly clear to them that she'd only stay for one pint. But it was a start.

Inside her pocket, her pager vibrated. With a weak smile, she stood up, straightening her leather jacket subconsciously. Regnum defende, she thought wryly. Spies risked their lives every day for the cause; Adam had _died_ for it. Because that was what all of this was about; what it all came down to. Fighting for the country, caring for the people. Defending the realm.

"Goodbye, Adam." she whispered. She stood facing his place of rest for a long moment, allowing his gorgeous eyes to appear before her one last time, and soaking up the fresh hope they gave her. Then, with one last sigh, she turned away, deliberately firm with herself, and headed for her car. Work beckoned.

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy**

**I'm new to FanFiction so please review and tell me what you think**

**I don't own anything in this story – I just love [Spooks]**


End file.
